


Nothing Is Lost

by takadainmate



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Ridiculous winter fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takadainmate/pseuds/takadainmate
Summary: Jack, Stephen, Sophie. There is a snowstorm and Stephen is lost. Jack and Sophie find him.Written for theperfect_duetAdvent Calender 2011.
Relationships: Jack Aubrey/Stephen Maturin/Sophie Williams
Kudos: 7





	Nothing Is Lost

It was a rare- unheard of- blessing for Jack to find himself at Ashgrove Cottage with only Stephen and Sophie’s company. With the children and their grandmother visiting Bath, and every one of Jack's loyal men dispersed for the Christmas celebrations, Jack couldn't remember a time before when this had happened. When he'd been alone with his most loved people in the world. It was a gift, he told himself, and prayed particularly hard that Sunday in heartfelt gratitude. If only Stephen would see it as such, instead of running about the countryside despite feet upon feet of heavy, thick snow, looking for birds and the burrows of badgers or whatever it was he was currently enamoured with. He'd left so early that Jack hadn't seen him at breakfast. Nor had Sophie.

His heavy overcoat was still hanging on its peg in the kitchen and Sophie looked at it fretfully from time to time, worrying, "Oh I do hope he wrapped up warm," and, "I hope he took something to eat with him". She knew as well as Jack how utterly terrible Stephen was at looking after himself, but it wouldn't do her to worry.

"He's survived worse, Sophie dear," Jack tried to assure her, but he didn't feel any confidence in Stephen's sense of self-preservation himself. At every opportunity he found himself at the windows, looking out into the bleak, white world outside, with the few bare, spindly trees beyond the cottage driveway the only source of colour. Their thin braches groaned under the weight of the snow. To make it worse, when the old clock in the parlour struck two in the afternoon it began to snow again.

Sophie stoked the fires, cooked broth and coffee, perhaps hoping the smell would draw Stephen home, but he didn't return. For his own part Jack tried to concentrate on writing letters to Admiralty and reading the Gazette, enjoying the quiet and the rare comfort of the company of his wife. But all he could think of was Stephen, and Jack could tell Sophie felt the same.

After realising he'd read the same sentence over four times Jack put the paper down with a sigh and announced to Sophie, who sat across from him furiously sewing Stephen's socks, "Should we go and search for him, do you think?"

The sun was beginning to set and the snow was becoming heavier. Jack worried that soon the snow would have settled so high that they would be climbing out the windows, the doors thoroughly blocked. He worried that Stephen had no light with him.

Sophie put down her sewing. "Yes," she said. "Yes, we should look for him. I thought I was being a worried old woman, but if you think so too. I just can't bear the thought of poor Stephen lost out there, Jack."

It was decided, then. Between the prospect of staying in his cosy parlour and ensuring Stephen's safety there was no decision to be made at all.

They put on layers and layers of clothes, their thickest of scarves, mittens, socks, the heaviest boots Jack and Sophie could find. From long experience Jack knew better than to go out into such treacherous weather unprepared and he packed a bag of blankets, bread and cheese left over from breakfast wrapped in a handkerchief, rope and a knife.

"Where do we start?" Sophie asked. She looked dubiously, but determinedly, out at the growing snow storm.

For a moment Jack considered the two of them splitting up, to cover more ground, but then Jack would only be concerned for Sophie, out in the darkness and the cold, alone, as well as Stephen. He took hold of Sophie's mittened hand.

"With the grounds," Jack replied. Sophie nodded.

They would do this methodically, searching incrementally further from the cottage until they found their friend. And then Jack would bring him home and be obliged to give Stephen another lecture in time-keeping and _looking after himself_. Or perhaps he would leave the scolding to Sophie. The displeased expression on her face told Jack that she certainly meant to give Stephen a piece of her mind. It would be much worse coming from Sophie, Jack knew. There might be crying, and there would certainly be that sorrowfully earnest expression Sophie had when she decided that somehow everything was her fault. Jack knew that Stephen, as much as any man, wouldn't fail to repent under such duress.

Beside him, Sophie gave Jack a small smile and Jack lit the lantern.

Opening the front door, Jack was struck with a blast of snow that stung his face, a gust of wind that was icy cold. Sophie drew closer to his side.

They plunged into the outside world, boots crunching through the inches of fallen snow, so high that Jack had to raise his knees high to walk. "

"Walk in my boot prints," Jack advised as Sophie struggled along behind him.

Day had almost turned to night, though with the thick clouds turning the sky to a dull grey it made very little difference. Without the lamp Jack couldn't imagine how they would be able to find their way. It was bad enough that almost every landmark, every recognisable feature of the surrounding area had completely disappeared under the blanket of white.

As they pressed on, searching ever further out from their home, but Jack always keeping its position in relation to them in mind, it seemed increasingly likely that Stephen had become lost out here. Jack was sure that Stephen, who had little enough sense of direction at the best of times and who notoriously lost all sense of the world when he was naturalising, would never be able to find his way back to the cottage in this weather. His concern grew. What if they couldn't find him? What if he was buried under snow? They would never be able to find him. All they could do was try, and keep going until they couldn't anymore. The thought of losing Stephen at his own home because of cold and snow was, after everything the two of them had faced in the past, unthinkable.

Sophie shivered and held tightly to Jack's arm, as though she was afraid to lose him too, but she didn't complain at all about the cold or the exertion. Jack had always admired her loyalty and her determination.

It was impossible to tell how long they had been searching, gradually moving further away from the warmth and safety of home, increasingly concerned. The sun had long since set, the snow pouring down, and then Jack saw something in the distance; movement.

He stopped moving instantly, listening.

"What is it?" Sophie asked, and Jack shushed her. It was possible it was only a fox or one of Stephen's birds and Jack didn't want to raise Sophie's hopes. The movement turned into shape, slow moving and ungainly, and certainly a man. Jack prayed very hard it was Stephen.

"There's someone out there." Jack pointed, cautiously started moving toward the figure. There was always the danger this was a vagrant or brute, made dangerous through desperation in the face of such atrocious weather, and in his worry Jack had not thought to bring a pistol.

"Stephen?" Sophie whispered cautiously, as though she too were afraid to hope too much.

It was too dark to make out the colour of his jacket nor the shape of his face, but then the figure called out in a creaky, hoarse voice, "Jack?"

And oh Lord, oh God, it was Stephen.

Sophie called back immediately, urgently, "Stephen!" and pushed at Jack's back to hurry him on. He didn't need the encouragement because then Stephen stopped moving and dropped into the snow.

"Oh hell," Jack swore, and the two of them somehow managed to run- in a sort of uncoordinated, four-legged shuffle- the remaining distance to Stephen. When they got to him Jack was glad to see that he was still awake, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, cursing in that strange Spanish of his native land. Jack had long since learned a great many of these curses through repeated exposure and long nights drinking together. Jack was not so glad to see the violence with which Stephen shivered, nor the paleness of his face. His teeth chattered so loudly Jack was reminded of the rattling of chains below deck.

"Hold this." He handed the lamp to Sophie who nodded and leaned close, encouraging Stephen, "Stay still, stay still. Jack will help you."

Stephen worse only a thin jacket, his hands unnaturally red and raw even by the orange light of the lamp. His lips were a disturbing shade of blue. Jack had seen men die of the cold and exposure enough times to know that they had to move quickly.

"Give me your hands, Stephen," Jack asked, pulling off his own gloves. He sucked in a breath as the cold stung at his newly bare skin, but it would only be for a few minutes and Stephen needed them more. If Jack's hands were this cold after only a few moments, he could only imagine how Stephen felt. Jerkily, Stephen obediently reached towards Jack and Jack quickly pulled the mitten's down over Stephen's hands. He pulled the blankets out of his bag, wrapped them tightly around Stephen. For good measure Jack took off his woollen hat and pulled it over Stephen's ears. He looked quite ridiculous, but it was better than freezing to death.

With eyes as grey as the icy afternoon sky had been Stephen scowled at Jack as though he knew exactly what Jack was thinking, but he refrained from speaking. It worried Jack that Stephen didn't speak his mind.

"We'll get you home," Jack assured him cheerfully, taking Stephen's arm and pulling him to his feet. He was surprisingly heavy, and he was unbalanced on his feet.

"Sophie, can you take his other arm?" Jack asked, hoping more for the balance than for her to take any of Stephen's weight.

"Of course," she said, shifting the lamp from one hand to the other. Before linking her free arm with Stephen's she brushed the snow from his cheeks, fussing, "Oh, you're like ice, Stephen."

Unsteadily they began to move back towards the house.

"I do apologise for bringing you both out in this weather," Stephen managed, his words slow and slurred together.

"I will be very cross with you later," Sophie warned, "But for now you must walk upright Stephen. It isn't far back to the house."

Stephen nodded and found the strength to stand up a little straighter.

In searching for Stephen they had ventured a fair way from the cottage, but there was no reason for Stephen to know that. Whenever Jack glanced at his friend he looked mostly asleep in any case, his eyes half-closed and his head pressed against his chest as though her were trying to burrow deeper into the blankets Jack had secured around him.

There were many things Jack wanted to demand to know, such as what on Earth he'd thought he was doing staying outside so long in this weather, such as not taking food with him, because it was clear he carried little more than his notebook and his old telescope. He wanted to know why Stephen had thought it was a good idea to go naturalising without a _coat_. Sometimes Jack despaired at Stephen. From the way Sophie fussed over him worriedly Jack imagined that his wife did too.

They walked, the three of them, pressed side by side, and by the time Ashgrove cottage came into sight Stephen was a little better, a little more alert and coordinated in his movements.

"I thought," he told them, his voice raspy and quiet, "I thought I would never see this house again."

"Don't be silly," Sophie tutted. "You'll always come back here. Jack and I will make sure of it." She smiled widely, "Whether you like it or not."

There was no mistaking Stephen's unhappy murmured, "Save me, oh Lord."

"None of that," Sophie chided. "Tell him, Jack."

Jack knew Stephen's temper and was not as willing to anger his friend as, apparently, Sophie was, so he tried diplomatically, "You're always welcome with us, of course."

Stephen turned his head to look at Jack and blinked at him blearily, intensely.

"Come on then." Jack looked away, towards the light they had left burning in the cottage. When he looked back to give Stephen an encouraging smile, Stephen was still watching him closely, almost as though he were one of his most interesting dissections. "Just a little further, Stephen," he said, and was relieved when Stephen nodded. Perhaps the poor man was delirious, mad from the cold. Jack had seen it happen before. He was sure Stephen would be back to himself as soon as they had him warmed up and dry and rested. For someone who looked as unimposing as Stephen he was strong, and stubborn, and he had come back healthy from much worse injuries, much worse hardships than this.

When he thought about their lives, about everything he knew about Stephen's life before they'd met, it saddened Jack greatly to think how much pain his friend had suffered. None of it was deserved by someone so very loyal and brave and clever. Jack determined to show Stephen more goodness, more care, because that he certainly deserved. He loved Stephen with all his heart, and Jack knew that Sophie did too, and here in their home Stephen was part of their family. Jack would make sure that Stephen knew it.

Coming up the path, just a little way to the front door, Stephen tripped and Jack had to haul Stephen up, slinging a hand more firmly around his back. "A few more steps, Stephen," he encouraged.

"I do apologise," Stephen mumbled. "Terribly clumsy."

Jack shouldered open the cottage's heavy door, as soon as he stepped over the threshold thankful for the absence of icy wind howling past his ears and clumps of snow stinging his eyes. The change in temperature between the outside world and the cottage was immediate. Jack's bare fingers prickled in the new warmth.

He hauled Stephen up the corridor, heading for the warmth of the parlour, ignoring the way they all dripped water on the rugs. Sophie followed behind, shutting the door tightly.

"I'll bring dry things," she called after them, hurrying away upstairs, shedding layers of scarves and coats as she went.

Since entering the cottage Stephen seemed to have become more unstable, his feet tripping over themselves.

"Jack," Stephen said. "I feel very strange. Have we been drinking?"

"We haven't, no." That Stephen was forgetting what had happened could not be a good sign. He quickened their pace, shepherding Stephen into the parlour and lowering him to the ground directly in front of the fire. He threw logs onto the flames, trying to encourage more heat. More warmth. On their thick rug Stephen sat shivering, his teeth chattering loudly, his eyes half-closed, swaying.

His clothes looked sodden, the blankets Jack had wrapped around Stephen's shoulders encrusted with melting snow.

"Well, we had better get you out of these wet things." Jack resigned himself to undressing Stephen, knowing that there was no possible way Stephen had the strength or the coordination to do it himself. There was, of course, no way that he could leave Sophie to perform this task.

Stephen made no protest when Jack pulled off the hat and gloves he'd lent him. He only blinked and looked down at Jack blearily when Jack began pulling off his socks and unbuckling his breeches.

As Jack peeled off the sopping layers of his clothes, he found Stephen's skin frighteningly clammily cold to the touch. Stephen hissed as though the touch burned him.

"Just a moment," Jack said soothingly. "Just another moment and we'll have you warm."

It had been a long time since Jack had seen Stephen in such a state that he couldn't even sit himself up. That he could barely speak.

With his shirt off, his undergarments removed with some difficulty Stephen lay in Jack's arms, leaning heavily against him, panting miserably. It seemed the thing to do, so Jack rubbed at Stephen's arms and at his back, trying to get some sort of colour, some sort of _life_ , back into Stephen's skin. It was then that Jack realised he hadn't even taken off his own coat yet. His boots dripped mud and snow onto the rug. His beloved mother in law would be most happy to see such a mess when she returned.

It was difficult to bring himself to be at all concerned over the decor when Stephen looked so very poorly still.

Sophie found them like that, Jack kneeling on the floor in front of the fire with Stephen more or less in his lap, wearing little more than the damp blankets Jack had given him out in the storm.

"Oh my," she exclaimed, having never before seen quite so much of Stephen's skin, and averting her eyes. She carried a pile of clothes and more blankets, and Jack had never realised they had quite so many of the things in the house before. Carefully keeping her eyes trained on the settee, on the mantelpiece, on the pattern on the floor, Sophie handed over the thickest, an ugly patchwork eiderdown, and instructed, "Give me those damp things, Jack, and wrap him in this. I'll leave it to you to dress him."

She left her pile of clothes on the floor beside them and retreated. "I will make coffee," she announced, and was gone.

Jack grinned, "I think you embarrassed our Sophie."

There weren't many men, Jack considered, who wouldn't feel slighted by the thought of his wife seeing another man naked. But this was Stephen, and Jack trusted him implicitly. He also knew that Sophie and Stephen had been friends for a long time. In truth, he trusted them both, as he loved them both.

Jack did as he was told and pulled the blanket up around Stephen's shoulders. Stephen fidgeted irritably and Jack suspected it was because the material was itchy. At least, though, his shivering had slowed to little more than bouts of fine tremors. His hands still shook where he tried to grip the blanket, to hold it tightly around himself.

"It was not my fault," Stephen argued grumpily. "You took my clothes off."

"I have dry ones," Jack explained. "Much better for you."

Getting Stephen dressed was even more difficult than getting him undressed. It wasn't that Stephen was trying to be difficult, Jack was certain, just that he couldn't seem to put his arms in the right place, or move his legs in such a way as to make things easy.

"I'm perfectly capable of putting on my own socks," Stephen protested as Jack covered his toes in the thickest stockings Jack had ever seen. There wasn't much Stephen could do, though, weak as a kitten and increasingly sleepy, his eyes closing slowly before jerking awake. Jack knew how much Stephen hated being cared for, being looked after. He was fiercely independent. Jack respected that, but this was him and Sophie, and if Stephen could not even feel comfortable accepting help from his very closest friends then who could he be at ease with?

"Of course you are, my dear," Jack assured him, "But it would be much easier if you'd allow me."

Thankfully, if ungraciously, Stephen relented, instead, putting his hand on Jack's shoulder to steady himself.

Not long after, with Stephen mostly dressed and wrapped again in the thick, scratchy patchwork blanket, Sophie returned with a tray of coffee and bread and cheese.

She entered the room cautiously, but sighed with relief, smiling at Stephen brightly when she saw him clothed. Not even a man with the coldest of hearts, Jack thought, could not be warmed by that smile. And Stephen, certainly not cold-hearted at all, smiled in return.

"Stephen," Sophie greeted. "Now I want to see you eat all this and not a crumb to be left. You'll order him if you have to, won't you Jack?" she ordered sweetly. Jack had never met anyone else who gave orders quite like that before; generous and gentle and stern and absolute all at once. It was a gift. And Jack didn't' have the heart to explain to Sophie that getting Stephen to obey commands was like trying to train a cat to jump through hoops.

Mercifully, Stephen must have been ravenous because he ate with such ferocity that Sophie, gathering the wet clothes and blankets around them, had to tell him to slow down.

"I have a pot," she said, indicating Stephen's cup of coffee. "I shall bring you some too. Jack, take off your boots. I won't have either of you catching anything." How his boots and illness were connected Jack wasn't clear but whilst Stephen was eating and drinking down his coffee in great gulps, Jack stripped off his outer clothes and hung them up in the hallway.

It was a strange let-down, an anticlimax after the anxiety and the desperation and the exertion of trying to find Stephen. Jack could hear the clocks ticking loudly, Sophie banging pots and humming softly in the kitchen, the creaking of floorboards and the crackle of fire, the spitting of logs burning. For Jack, this quiet domesticity was an alien thing; he was most familiar with the noise and the smell and the continuous _movement_ of life on the sea. But here with the two people he loved most in the world, safe and quiet together, Jack felt at home.

In the parlour, Jack watched as Stephen drank, more slowly now, his head falling to his chest and his hand slipping, falling asleep.

Jack caught the mug of coffee just before it spilled all over the carpeting.

"Perhaps we should take you to bed," Jack suggested.

"No, no," Stephen protested. "I am awake."

He scrubbed at his face with his hand and Jack was pleased to see a little colour there. He still shivered at times, and Jack reached out and rubbed warmth into his arms and back. It had seemed to help before, and Stephen leaned into the touch, sighing.

"Did you at least see some interesting animals?" Jack asked. "You were gone a long time." Jack hadn't meant to sound chastising, but he'd been so worried, and Stephen hadn't told where he was going, and if he had Jack would have gone with him perhaps, or tied him to a chair.

Stephen didn't miss the unhappiness in Jack's voice, looking up at him guiltily. "I did," he admitted. "But I think most were hibernating, or hiding from the weather."

"They," Sophie announced from the doorway, "Had more wisdom than you, dearest Stephen."

Stephen wisely agreed. "I was, perhaps, foolish."

She'd brought coffee for Jack and tea for herself and Jack accepted the warm cup reverently. His lips tingled and his mouth burned as he drank, but it filled his stomach with warmth and quelled his hunger and his exhaustion instantly. Sophie settled beside them, sipping from her own cup.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "Is there anything else you need?" Gently, she reached out and touched fingertips to Stephen's forehead. "You still feel cold. I know you're the physician of all of us-"

Stephen shook his head, interrupting, "There's nothing. You have both- No. I need nothing more."

He looked to Sophie and then to Jack, and Jack didn't know if it was because he was a little delirious, or because he was just thankful, but there was an open affection in Stephen's gaze that Jack had rarely seen before.

Stephen gave no thanks, because there was never any need for that between them; they had saved each other's lives so many times it became obsolete, cancelling each other out. And in any case, Jack knew he would do almost anything for Stephen, and gladly, to see him well and happy. Jack was certain Stephen would always be there for him too.

Sophie put her cup down and took Stephen's hand, rubbing his knuckles with her palm, and Jack knew his wife felt the same.

"You're tired," she said kindly, and Stephen yawned and nodded. Sophie met Jack's gaze over Stephen's messy hair, and Jack smiled in agreement. They would take care of him together. "Then sleep on Jack. He's comfortable." She pushed at Stephen's side and for a moment his friend look confused, but was too exhausted to protest when Jack pulled him down onto his lap. It wasn't something they hadn't done before, and maybe Stephen felt it was strange to do such a thing in front of Sophie, but she just pulled the blanket more tightly around Stephen, covering his legs and leaving a hand there, resting on his knees.

In the orange light of the fire Jack could see that Stephen looked uncertain, as though he wasn't sure how he had ended up in this position, so Stephen put a hand on his shoulder, welcoming, encouraging Stephen to lay still.

"I ask only that you not attempt to go naturalising in a mid-winter snowstorm again." She spoke lightly, but Jack knew there was very real concern behind it.

"I won't," Stephen promised.

Later, when the fire had dwindled in the parlour and Jack and Sophie had drunk all of their tea and coffee and Stephen had stopped shivering, they would take him to bed with them. It was the most natural thing in the world for Stephen to fit between them, wrapped in their arms and their blankets. Sophie would kiss his cheek, and Jack would smile at them and hold them both close, and he would have everything in the world he had ever wanted; all the riches and the fastest, greatest ships in creation were nothing to that.

But for now, Stephen dozed with his head against Jack's knee, and Jack and Sophie spoke in hushed voices of breakfast and buying Stephen winter clothes, and Jack felt _warm_.

**.End.**


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